It'd felt like hours, as I sat in the interrogation room, before the churning of a misaligned door handle wrenched metal and brought my attention upon the door as it opened inward.

  A middle aged man in an ill fitting suit sauntered on in and tossed a thick stack of manila folders upon the steel table, echoing with resounding emphasis as the table legs wobbled ever so slightly.

  “Can you tell me what's going on here?” I cleared my throat and tried to sound more imposing, what came out though, was the squeak of a church mouse.

  The man responded with silence, before yanking the opposing chair out and taking a seat. He retrieved a pen from the interior breast pocket of his suit jacket and clicked it ready for action, as he started rifling through the folders.

  Sighing, he removed some documents, and pulled out a familiar looking passport...my passport, which was in my bag!

  “That's my passport!” I said aloud.

  “I'm aware," the man droned on, copying information from the little blue booklet onto a separate form.

  “So you can talk,” I chided, crossing my arms and lounging back in my seat.

  “And you should not,” he responded in rapid succession.

  My mouth hung agape as I then sat in silence. Not because I was adhering to his instruction, but due to the fact that I couldn't think of a quality retort in time. That would keep me awake at night for years to come. Maybe Jack's brashness was rubbing off on me a little...but that was also what got us into this situation! I couldn't wait to tell that to his kissable face when I saw him again...if I saw him again, that is.

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  “Can we talk about this?” I spoke up again.

  “Nothing to talk about,” he fired back, still writing before closing the passport shut and sliding it to the side.

  Clicking his pen back, he reinserted it into his pocket and collected his things. Slinging the folders under his arm, and carrying the passport in his other hand, he went and banged on the door with his elbow.

  After a moment, a soldier cracked the door, carrying my bags in tow. The suited man handed the soldier my passport, who returned it to its rightful zippered pouch in my bag.

  “C'mon,” the suited man turned back to me, waving me over to him, as the door opened wider.

  I hesitated, before standing and following him out the door.

  We marched down the halls, as I thought of escape routes. I mean, it couldn't get any worse, right? My emotions suddenly flooded me. I wasn't a criminal, but what about Jack's weapons? I had to do something. I had to get out, to help Jack! To help my Father!

  As we rounded the bend, my stupid lack of sensibilities overpowered me and I stomped down on the suited man's foot, before making a run for it!

  “Hey!” A soldier shouted, as the suited man sang tunes of startled aggression.

  I made a break for the direction that Jack was taken in, and reached for a door at the end of the hallway, my fingertips grazing it just as arms wrapped around my torso, and pulled me back.

  “No!” I shouted, struggling against them, as I kicked and thrashed. The soldiers dragged me in another direction and led me down steps, going through a door to a parking lot out back. A lone black car sat idling, gas puffing out of its tailpipe while its engines hummed.

  Popping the truck, a soldier tossed my bags in the back, while others led me to the back door, opened it, and forced me in, before slamming the door behind me.

  I struggled while trying to open the door, but it was locked. Crawling across the seats to the other side, I tried the opposing handle to no avail. The car was clean, untouched, black leather, spotless. A divider sectioned off the quiet in front from seats in the back. I pounded on the windows, but they were clearly reinforced. I even tried to the divider, but couldn't do anything. Finally, I sat back and took a breath.

  “Well, looks like things just got worse.”